Pillow Tales
by Hankha
Summary: Exactly how much can happen in six months? Apparently, a lot. Requires reading to understand. HouseCuddy for the prologue, but not of the fluffy variety. Possibly more or different pairings later on.
1. Prologue

Disclaimer: Would that I owned House MD. But I don't. David Shore, Bryan Singer and FOX do. I just play with them.

A/N: This is my first fanfiction, and any advice, recommendations, criticism or nitpicking is highly appreciated. And kinda required if you want this story to get anywhere!

Also, I should probably explain the formatting. I saw the Now.../Then... done in a Veronica Mars fiction (not sure which one) before, and just FYI, it's just a different way of doing flashbacks. Basically, the story carries two timelines: the present time (Now) and the events which took place leading up to the present (Then...). Hope I explained that okay! Please read on and enjoy, and then review!

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****Pillow Tales - ****Prologue:****_Then…_**

House's eyelids fluttered open momentarily, briefly plunging his retinas into the light that lingered sometime between dusk and dawn. He was vaguely aware of the pillow he lay against. It was soft and clean, scented with the subtle smell of pungent perfume.

Breathing in the intoxicating aroma, House began to recall the previous night's events. A series of frivolities flashed before his eyes; a bit too much liquor, perhaps. Despite his best efforts, House was unable to determine a recognisable sequence of events. There had been drinking, most likely during all the intervals between his more lucid recollections. Some heavy banter, lending sympathy, and sex with his boss.

House gently raised his head from the pillow and pulled his bare upper body into a sitting position on the bed. He waited for the spinning sensation and nausea to subside before opening his eyes, carefully twisting his neck to identify the profile of Lisa Cuddy lying beside him on the bed. Every muscle in his body ached from the aftermath of a wild night on the bottle. It was with great caution that he pulled away the covers and rolled his legs to the edge of the bed.

He was completely disorientated. Still doubtful as to the circumstances of his arrival there, and with his head still spinning rapidly, House had to take a few deep breaths to compose himself. He rubbed at his eyes, and found his footing on the cold wood floor of her bedroom, desperately searching through the darkness for the clothes discarded the night before.

House located his undershirt and pulled it on. The sound of ruffling sheets filled his ears, and House, panicked, turned to see Cuddy roll onto her stomach, tucking one of her bare arms beneath the pillow. He glanced at the red LED alarm clock glaring angrily through the darkness from her bedside table. 4:09am. He quickly picked up the rest of his things and hurried out of the bedroom.

In the lounge, House pulled on his trousers and shoes and buttoned up his shirt. He found his coat thrown over an armchair and his cane resting against the coffee table. Crossing the room to the door, a notepad by the phone caught his eye. He paused and considered leaving a note. There was nothing he could do to improve the situation, but much could happen that would deteriorate it. He should at least have the courtesy to leave her a message.

House picked up the pen attached to the pad, and poised it above the blank page. He grimaced and sighed softly, before deciding on the most appropriate greeting.

_Lisa,_

House stared down at the small word. That little ink formation on the page was so unfamiliar to him. There was no 'Lisa' in his life. Lisa was the woman he'd slept with last night, who he'd probably never have to face again. Cuddy was the one he'd want to watch out for.

He ripped the page from the pad, crushed it to a ball and slipped it into his pocket. He considered the desired content for his new message, and began to write once more.

_Cuddy,_

_Heading home to get ready for work. Talk later._

_G.H._

House dropped the pen, and backed away from the message. He gently opened the door latch and stepped outside the front door, closing it as quietly as possible behind him.

The sky outside had lightened to a cold sort of blue. The sun had yet to rise, and Cuddy's neighbourhood was rendered gaunt and dreary in the dullness and quiet of the morning. House reached into his jacket pocket for his Vicodin, but his hand remerged empty. He paused midway between the front door and his motorcycle, checking all of his pockets. Somewhere, in the rush to be unclothed, his Vicodin had found their way out of his pocket.

Not wanting to face the possibility of running into Cuddy, House decided to wait until he arrived home to get his painkillers. He continued on towards his bike, inserting his cane into the clasp and clumsily throwing a leg over to sit astride it. He was hung over, and his leg hurt. And it was still only about 4:15.

Truckers in their enormous articulated lorries and washed-out businessmen in small executive cars dominated the early morning traffic. House made his way to his apartment, lost in a hazy dream-like setting of cold blues and deep navies. His leg was really beginning to ache, and his whole body was freezing as the predawn breeze lashed against him. He was probably even still under the influence. His head pounded stubbornly, and House winced uncomfortably. The throbbing persisted, and he closed his eyes and brought a hand to his forehead.

It was the distraction that caused it all, because a moment later, the bike was swerving out of control and onto the next lane. The front wheel had met with a piece of trash, or a sewer grate, and House's bike veered directly into the path of an oncoming lorry.

* * *

**_Now…_**

House's eyes fluttered open momentarily – the shock of the brilliant white fluorescent light breaking through his lids automatically clamped them shut again. This time, the pillow he lay upon was soft but worn, and smelled of hospital. He weakly turned his head to the bedside, forcing his eyes open once more to find the chair empty. He inhaled deeply and blinked a little, his eyes still adjusting to his surroundings. House swallowed a bit, and lifted his head from the pillow to ensure his room was otherwise vacant. It was a private room, with a view of the campus and a small TV. He lay back down and gazed up at the ceiling.

House closed his eyes and began testing his muscles, clenching and unclenching his fists, and raising and lowering his right leg on the bed. Everything seemed fine, except for the heavy lethargy that swept over his body immediately after the simple exercises.

He considered calling for a nurse, but decided instead to relax against the pillow and rest his eyes for a while. His breathing slowed to a leisurely pace, and he felt himself drifting off into a light sleep.

He was awakened, however, when a nurse bustled noisily into the room, looking distractedly at his charts. She was in her early twenties, with a slight build and blond hair. House studied her for a minute, before deciding to speak up.

"You know, patients have feelings too."

The nurse's head shot upwards, wide-eyed and open-mouthed. She stared at him for a minute, trying to blink away uncertainty of his apparent revival. Her mouth opened and closed, failing to form coherent speech.

"Moment of epiphany? Vowing to never ignore a patient again?" House prompted knowingly. The nurse frowned and backed away from the bed, before turning and running haphazardly out of the room.

"Dr. Chase! Dr. Chase!" she called, and House sighed and returned his gaze to the ceiling. Damn nurse, setting him up for a session of prodding and testing with Chase.

Chase dashed into the room, followed shortly after by the blond-haired nurse. He was wearing his white coat, and looking more over-worked than House had ever seen him. He paused at the bed, staring intently at House, his eyes wide in shock.

"House," he murmured sharply under his breath. He stood there, staring dumbstruck for a minute. Finally, the corners of his mouth began to slowly curl upwards.

Chase, now grinning broadly, moved around to the side of the bed and pulled a flashlight from his pocket. House grimaced in discomfort as Chase leaned across him and began checking his pupils.

Chase pulled back and began squeezing on different parts of his leg – testing his responses and reflexes, his smile never wavering. After the brief examination, he gave a deep sigh of relief.

"It's good to have you back," he remarked, filling in the chart.

House stared bewilderedly at Chase, who was glowing in elation at his return. "Oh, God," House noted, "you've lost the fear. What the hell is going on?"

Chase put down the chart and walked back around to House's side. The nurse turned and left the room. He sat down on the bed at House's feet, the smile slowly slipping from his lips. He looked down at his lap, and then back at House, who returned the stare attentively.

"House, you were in an accident. You had a minor skull fracture, and a couple of cracked ribs. When the ambulance arrived you were knocked out." Chase paused for a moment, fidgeting with his hands on his lap. He sighed, and looked back at him. "You've been in a coma for over six months."

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Onto phase two... review!


	2. The ICU Attending

Thanks for the reviews so far! I got lucky and three of my lectures were cancelled today, so I seized the opportunity to write more! I won't usually update this quickly, but this is really just an extension of the prologue. Don't worry, I'll develop more soon! But you simply must review. You must. _Must_.

**A/N:** I'll be doing the** _then..._** of a different character every chapter. Except House, obviously, because that would make for rather uninteresting reading.And I'm also hoping to reintroduce a character with every instalment.

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**Pillow Tales – Ch1: The ICU Attending**

**_Now…_**

"Six months?" House repeated disbelievingly. Chase nodded, sighing resignedly and avoiding House's eyes.

"You were stable for six months. No change. Cuddy had you transferred to the ICU, so you could have a good private room." House looked away from Chase's aquamarine eyes, and stared pensively at the ceiling.

Chase rubbed at the back of his neck. "Look, I have to finish rounds. I'll check on you in a bit." He gave House a gentle clap on the arm before standing up and heading out the door.

Chase walked briskly down the corridor towards the nurses' station. He pulled out his pager and keyed '_House awake_' onto the small screen, sending the page to Wilson. He looked up at the nurse behind the counter, and tried to engage her eyes. "Could you notify Dr. Foreman and Dr. Allison Cameron that Dr. House is awake, please?" he asked her politely.

"Sure," she answered and Chase turned and strolled aimlessly down the hallway. So House was awake. Wilson would tell Cuddy. Someone should tell Dr. Foley.

Chase arrived at the elevators, and found his attention captured by an 'Information Point' sign on the wall. Diagnostics, level three. Chase sighed and turned around, making his way back through the ICU.

* * *

**_Then…_**

Chase was the last to arrive in the conference room. Traffic had been obstructed on his normal work-route by an overturned articulated truck; an entire portion of the road had been cut-off by smashed glass from the cargo of beer-bottles it was carrying. He avoided eye contact as he strode nonchalantly into the room, hanging up his coat and dropping his bag without drawing attention to himself.

When Chase finally turned to face his colleagues, he discovered their attention was elsewhere anyway. Cameron's eyes were red-rimmed and wide in shock, staring at the wall opposite her, and Foreman was dejectedly throwing the soft ball into the air and catching it on its return. Chase surveyed the two for a minute, looking between them.

"What's happened?" he asked them, his brow furrowed. Foreman did nothing to acknowledge his presence, but continued to brood darkly whilst tossing the ball. Cameron also made no immediate move, but gave a slight sniff before meeting his eye.

"House crashed his bike. He's at Princeton General," she told him, her eyes shining with tears. The room returned to the heavy, miserable silence after she spoke. After a pause, Chase swallowed hard and moved closer towards where she sat at the table.

"How is he?" he blurted out. Cameron, unable to speak another word, turned away from him and let out a long, frustrated sigh. Foreman caught the ball on its descent, and then looked over to Chase.

"We don't know. They won't tell us anything."

Chase pulled out a chair and sank down into it, gazing numbly at his own reflection in the glass tabletop. Cameron began to weep miserably beside him, but he was too shocked to do anything other than ignore the heavy sobbing and try to understand what the hell was going on.

* * *

_**Now…**_

Chase was at the nurses' station when Dr. Foley arrived on the ICU floor. A nurse named Ruth accompanied him; she worked with Chase on this floor, and he'd noted how she seemed isolated from the other nurses. She was selfish and appraising, and it was apparent to Chase that once she'd heard mention of House's resurgence, she'd made her way downstairs to Foley's office to become the official messenger.

Foley's eyes immediately located Chase and he crossed the hallway purposefully, neglecting to acknowledge any nurses who addressed his arrival. Chase wearily greeted him.

"Dr. Foley."

Foley nodded cordially. He was in his early forties, tall and stocky, with a receding brown hairline and large, beady eyes. His white coat was thrown over a smart brown shirt and tie and beige suit pants.

"Rob," he responded absently. The two began walking together down the hallway, in the direction of House's hospital room. "I heard Dr. House is awake?" he questioned. Chase nodded.

"He woke up an hour ago. Seems perfectly healthy, no obvious trauma," he confirmed. Foley nodded briskly and looked away. They reached House's room, and the two stood outside the door, gazing inside through the window. Chase stuffed his hands in his pockets and watched as House stared sadly at the TV screen in the corner of the room. General Hospital.

Chase sighed as he studied House's face. The wrinkled brow, the lips contorted in a frown – utter confusion. Soap operas are the fastest moving dramas on air; half the cast had probably been fired and replaced in the six months since House had last seen it. And General Hospital wasn't the only place that had changed drastically in that time.

Making his mind up, Chase turned to Foley, who was also staring intently into the room. "Look, Dr. Foley," he began, and Foley switched his attention to him. "House is going to find it really difficult to adapt. A lot has changed in the past six months – it's not going to be easy for him." Chase paused and tried to choose his words as tactfully as possible. He took a deep breath. "Maybe it would be best if-"

"Chase!"

Chase looked off towards the source of the interruption, and found Wilson tearing down the corridor, his white jacket flapping behind him like a cape. Chase stepped away from the window, and Wilson slowed as he approached.

"I got your page," Wilson began frantically. Chase closed his eyes patiently and nodded in verification. "I let Cuddy know and ran straight up here… how's he doing? Have you told him anything?" Wilson paused to gather his breath and Chase shook his head.

"He's fine. Initial examinations, he looks good. And, no," Chase conceded, "he doesn't know anything yet."

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Thanks for reading! Now go review! 


	3. The Head Oncologist

Thanks for all the reviews... it's so darn encouraging when publishing ? one's first story. But _please_ keep it coming.

**Pillow Tales - Ch2 - The Head Oncologist**

**_Now…_**

Wilson stood at the doorframe and stared at the figure propped alertly against the pillows. House's face was twisted in rapt attention as he tried to adjust to the dramatic changes in his favourite soap, the soft background chorus of which reverberated around the small room. He gave no indication he was aware of Wilson's presence, until he gave a sigh and looked away from the television screen.

"You know, Jimmy, Susan here could give you a run for you money," he remarked, finally turning to catch Wilson's gaze. "I could've sworn the last time I saw this show, she was Harry's wife, not Nick's." Wilson gave a small smile and stepped away from the doorway, walking around to the foot of the bed. He shoved his hands into his pockets and glanced guiltily around the room.

"Actually," he confessed, "I got engaged."

House's eyebrows shot up. Wilson patiently rolled his eyes and sat down. "After six months?" House questioned incredulously. Wilson shrugged resolutely.

"I think you'll like her. She's… understanding. Pretty – a red-head, actually." House nodded compliantly.

"How long have you known her?" he asked mildly. Wilson fiddled unconsciously with his ring finger on his lap.

"Six months," he answered. "I met her at Princeton General the day you came in."

"Doctor?" House probed.

"Radiologist."

House nodded his head as he considered this. He glanced at Wilson's fidgeting hands, and then back up at his friend. "You wringing an imaginary wedding-band there, Jimmy," he announced, and Wilson looked down at his fingers to find them caught in the act. "You're nervous about the wedding," House deduced, and Wilson looked back up, shamefully. He sighed heavily.

"It's not until December. I don't understand it," he conceded. "I… I wasn't nervous before I married Lauren or Michelle or Julie… and I guess," he paused, "I guess I thought I'd have to go through it… _without_ my best friend."

House expelled an awkward chuckle, and looked at Wilson to find him staring back earnestly. "I missed you, House," Wilson continued. "It sucks without you."

* * *

**_Then…_**

Wilson raced through the parking lot to the front entrance of Princeton General. The automatic doors pulled apart to reveal a crowded waiting area, and Wilson crossed directly to the front desk.

"Excuse me," he called frantically at the secretary. "I'm looking for Greg House? He was admitted this morning, involved in the truck crash?" The woman nodded in recognition.

"He's in the O.R." she told him patiently as she continued sorting through a stack of files on the counter.

"Uh, okay… I'm James Wilson, I'm a doctor over at Princeton-Plainsboro. Can I scrub in for the procedure?"

The woman cocked a skeptical eyebrow, and then looked back down at her sorting. "'Can't have a crowded O.R." she answered, declining.

Wilson sighed in annoyance. "Well, if he's in surgery, there must be a reason. Can you tell me that much?" he pressed impatiently.

"You're next of kin?" she asked derisively.

"I just told you I'm a doctor," Wilson snapped. The woman turned away and Wilson heaved a growl of frustration. A woman who stood next to him at the desk wearing a pair of scrubs put down the clipboard she was filling in and looked over at him.

"Dr. James Wilson, the oncologist?" she asked, and Wilson turned his attention to her. He nodded, and she stuck out a hand, which he shook courteously. "It's an honour to meet you – I'm Maria Russell, I'm a radiologist here." Wilson visibly relaxed after she introduced herself, his frustration evaporating at her professionalism. "I could probably get a copy of the CT scan for you," she told him, indicating over her shoulder.

Wilson sighed in relief. "That would be fantastic. Do you know _why_ they're operating?" Wilson asked her as he followed her towards the elevators.

"His skull is fractured, and the CT showed an extradural haemorrhage of the parietal bone."

Wilson dropped his head and sighed. "Who's operating on him?" he asked her as they stepped into the elevator.

"Dr. Jonathon Field; he's one of our best surgeons," she replied reassuringly. Wilson nodded curtly. He took a deep breath and willed himself to calm down. Maria spoke up again. "Look, doctor, I've referred hundreds of cerebral haemorrhage patients to Dr. Field – I assure you he's a very capable surgeon."

Wilson looked at her disbelievingly for a minute before glancing away. "I'm sorry, I'm kind of stressed right now. House is a friend of mine."

Maria nodded comprehendingly. "Of course, I completely understand. That's why I'm doing this _favor _for you." She paused for a minute and took a deep breath before continuing. "And when the time comes, I may have to ask for a favor in return." She met his eyes nervously, and Wilson, still distracted by the plight of House, reached absently for his wallet.

"Here's my card," he said pulling out one of his business cards and handing it to her.

Maria expelled a short sigh of relief, tucking it into her jacket pocket. "Thank you. The radiology offices are just up here."

* * *

**_Now…_**

"How did you propose to this one?"

Wilson rolled his eyes at the question. "In a restaurant after a nice meal."

"Big rock?"

"Yes."

"Big rack?"

"Generously sized, yes."

House scoffed and refocused his attention on the small TV screen. "'She Jewish?"

"Yes," Wilson replied. "You'll meet her soon enough, House."

House nodded. He had other questions churning around his stomach about his six-month absence, but one in particular had been eating at him for a while now.

"This morning, when I woke up," he began, and Wilson turned to face him, "a nurse found me awake. She ran to get Chase, and Chase was here nearly straight away." Wilson grimaced and looked away uncomfortably. "Why was Chase the ICU attending?" House asked him.

Wilson looked seriously at House, who stared back questioningly. He heaved a great sigh, and resumed wringing the imagionary wedding-ring. "Two days after the accident, diagnostics went back to work. They took up a few cases, but without you, their success rate was… poor at best. Cuddy decided to temporarily dissolve the department. Chase went to ICU, Cameron, immunology and Foreman, neurology.

"You didn't wake up for five months after that. The board was putting Cuddy under pressure to disband diagnostics permanently – your staff were still being paid more than colleagues in their new departments as long as diagnostics existed. But provided that Cuddy and I were opposed to the permanent dissolution of your department, they couldn't do anything." Wilson paused and took a deep breath. "But then Cuddy left."

"Cuddy _left_?" House repeated, both confused and disturbed by the information.

Wilson looked up from his lap and into his best friend's bewildered eyes. "She left. Maternity leave. She was six months pregnant, House."

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	4. The Former Administrator

**Pillow Tales: Ch3 - The Former Administrator**

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**_Now…_**

"Six months? Who… who's the father?" House stuttered, barely coherent in shock.

Wilson sighed and looked away from his best friend. He rubbed uncomfortably at the nape of his neck. "She never told me," he began, "but I think you and I can both make a good guess."

House stared out the window contemplatively. The distant chatter of the TV stilled, before the title music swelled and filled the room. Wilson clumsily grabbed for the remote, muting the volume so the only sound to be heard was the discordant chorus of monitors coming from the hallway.

Wilson stood up from the bed and stuffed his hands into his jacket pockets. He turned to leave, hesitating before turning back to face House once more.

"I called her. She's on her way." Wilson breezed out the door, his coat swiftly flapping behind him. House switched his gaze to the doorframe through which Wilson had just disappeared.

He decided, at the middle ground somewhere between shock and cynicism, that if he wasn't feeling dizzy and nauseous from the news he'd just heard, there was every possibility he'd have disconnected himself from his monitors and bolted out the door.

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**_Then…_**

Cuddy aggressively slammed her car door shut, marching towards the main hospital entrance, thirty minutes late. She clutched her Styrofoam cup of coffee in one hand and her briefcase in the other. She'd woken up to an empty bed, an impersonal note and the worst hangover she'd had in years.

Lisa Cuddy was a career woman, who generally refrained from drinking unless circumstances made it necessary. Such circumstances included business opportunities and drowning giant-sized sorrows. She never drank for recreational purposes – she was smart, and had long since learned that she simply couldn't cope with hangovers.

But as in all bad situations, Cuddy took it with a coffee and a forced smile. Of course, the worst of this hangover wasn't over yet. She still had to face House. And in all the scenarios she could possibly fathom, the task never seemed even remotely tolerable.

The best scenario, she decided, would be if he didn't show up at all. His hangover must be just as bad as hers.

The automatic glass doors parted as she entered and crossed through the busy hospital foyer to her office. Cuddy's receptionist, Jill, was on the phone at her desk, and looked up at her arrival.

"Dr. Cuddy," she began timidly, "I tried to call you on your way in–"

"I know," Cuddy interjected, "I didn't answer." Naturally, with her splitting headache, she'd been in no mood to deal with her rambling secretary. If Jill had been phoning to notify her that she was late, obviously Cuddy would have realised that at the time.

Cuddy's hands were already latched around her office door handle when Jill spoke up again.

"Dr. House was in an accident this morning," she began, speaking to Cuddy's now stationary rear frame. "He was brought by ambulance to Princeton General at five a.m."

Staring numbly at the glass front of her double doors, Cuddy listened as her secretary broke the news about House.

"I've informed his staff, and Dr. Wilson left for General as soon as he heard."

Cuddy turned to face her secretary, who lowered herself to the desk chair at her intense stare. "Is… is it serious?" Cuddy stuttered, her eyes wide in panic.

Jill swallowed and glanced absently around the room. "We don't really know anything yet," she ventured quietly. Cuddy dropped her briefcase and her Styrofoam coffee cup to the ground, and made her way into the office – around to the back of her desk, and into her chair, where she sat holding her head in her hands for over an hour.

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**_Now…_**

House's eyes bore into the doorframe through which Wilson had exited as he processed the news.

Thirty minutes later, House's eyes were still fixed on the empty doorframe when the unfamiliar profile of Lisa Cuddy swaggered through. After six months, her belly had swollen into a slightly protruding, rounded bump, barely peaking through the opening of her light suit jacket. She was positively glowing, her skin bright and clear through an uncharacteristically wild mane of dark trailing curls.

House found himself unable to speak. Cuddy's eyes glazed over as she stared at him propped against his pillows, looking scared and unguarded, much like a lost puppy. Cuddy smiled painfully and looked away.

"I was _really_ worried about you, House," she quietly conceded, not meeting his eye. "Wilson told you?"

House exhaled shakily. "It's… mine?"

"It's yours," she confirmed, giving him another nervous smile. House looked away from her, unable to cope with her offhand demeanour. She sighed and rolled her eyes. "House, I'm not holding you to anything. I know you weren't planning on a child." When House refused to acknowledge her, she sighed and continued. "I had to make a decision. It was risky, keeping this child. But I've wanted this so badly for so long. I couldn't just abort my baby."

She took a seat at the end of his bed, fixing her eyes pleadingly on his inattentive face. "House, I'm not expecting you to do anything except understand." Finally, House grudgingly turned his head to face her. She exhaled a short breath of air in relief.

"I would make a terrible father," he told her softly, looking earnestly into her eyes.

"You don't know that," she insisted. House scoffed mildly and looked away. Cuddy gazed out the window thoughtfully.

* * *

**_Then…_**

Cuddy sat behind her desk, filling in the endless paperwork she'd come to revere recently. It had been one week since the bike accident, and with the hospital halls devoid of the presence of House, she no longer found solace in chasing any of her skiving staff. She was too disheartened to do anything other than bookwork.

A knock on the door roused her from what had become an automatic response to an almost mechanical system of paperwork. Cuddy looked up to find Wilson at the door, hovering timidly behind the glass with a small box in his hands. She beckoned him inside with a warm smile – Wilson was finding it the most difficult to cope.

"You're just back from General?" she asked politely as he pushed open the door. Wilson nodded in response, strolling forward and depositing the small container in front of her on the desk. He was acting odd, almost cautious.

"His fracture is healing well," he informed her. "'Scans look good." Cuddy nodded, pleased at the news. She indicated the box in front of her.

"What's this?"

Wilson cleared his throat. "The nurses gave it me. That's everything he had on him when he crashed." Cuddy peered into the box. "No Vicodin," Wilson added. Cuddy looked up at him and raised her eyebrows, before looking back inside. Wilson glanced at his watch. "I have to get back – I have an appointment at two. Um… maybe you should take a look through that stuff." Wilson turned awkwardly and exited the room.

Cuddy watched him as he left, puzzled by the peculiar behaviour. She spilled the contents of the box onto her desk. About four dollars in loose coins, his watch, his beeper, his wallet, a rubber band and a small scrunched up piece of toffee-coloured paper. As gently as she could, Cuddy traced her fingertips across the surface of the paper ball, searching for the corner of the page. Locating it, she began to unravel the note, to discover a post-it. Intrigued, she lay it flat against the hard wood of her desk, ironing it smooth with the flat base of her fist. Having smoothed out the creases to find it blank, she flipped it over onto the other side.

Scrawled, in barely legible handwriting was a single word.

_Lisa,_

A wave of nausea beginning to wash over her, Cuddy clutched at her stomach as the ink stared guiltily up at her from the page. Her heart pounding loudly in her ears, as Cuddy realised that this one little word, printed on a sheet of her own stationary, was the verification of everything she felt. She had no idea where she stood with him. He'd clearly tried to be personal, _tried_ to see her as more than a colleague, but had no idea of how to deal with that.

Realising she could no longer swallow back her retches, Cuddy stood abruptly up from her desk. She slapped a hand across her mouth, and took off out the door for the staff restrooms, where she vomited into the toilet until the contents of her stomach were emptied.

* * *

_**Now…**_

"I can't imagine how you feel, House. And I don't mind if you decide not to be involved. It's up to you." House still hadn't responded. Desperately nervous, Cuddy began clutching her jacket collar.

"Please just say something," she finished, gazing earnestly down at him.

House stared pensively out the window as he spoke. "Let's just see where this goes," he replied. Cuddy watched him for a minute, staring intently at his face, before nodding decisively. Turning his head, House returned a sardonic stare. "I wonder if he'll have my limp."

Cuddy snorted at this and looked back to the window.

"By the way, maternity-leave at six months?" House questioned skeptically. "Sounds to me like someone is milking it for all its worth."

Cuddy glared at him. "You know that given circumstances, the odds I'll miscarry are _not_-"

"Oh, Cuddy, I understand that your hormones are uncontrollable, so please don't pretend it wasn't in an effort to keep constant vigil by my bedside."

Cuddy scoffed, but didn't respond. She took a deep, decisive breath and then looked seriously at him.

"Actually, I have to tell you something." Cuddy sighed, before resigning herself once more to what she was trying to get out. "I re-assigned Foreman, Chase and Cameron temporarily to other hospital departments. Foreman went to neurology; Chase went to ICU, and Cameron, immunology."

"I know," House replied absently. "Wilson told me."

Cuddy sighed and went on. "Dr. Foley, head of neurology, became substitute administrator four months after Foreman began working with him. Foreman's the new head of neurology."

House raised his eyebrows, taken aback at the sudden conflicting pangs of pride and betrayal he was feeling.

"My final request was that Chase be kept on in ICU so he could monitor your condition. Foley didn't mind, intensivists are hard to come by, and he'd been a fan of Chase's father anyway.

"Cameron was a problem. Princeton Plainsboro has only ever employed one full-time immunologist, and Dr. Freidrich has worked here for longer. I fought for Cameron, but the second I left, the board stepped in."

House's brow furrowed as he tried to understand what she was telling him. "What're you saying?" he asked.

"What I'm saying," Cuddy interrupted, "is that Cameron lost her position here in the hospital. She was fired."

* * *

So this little guy had two **_Then..._**s and three _**Now...**_s. I know it slows up the the present-time plot to have lots of flashbacks, but do you guys mind it? Leave your comments, please, and thanks for all the positive feedback so far. I'm trying really hard not to turn this into a fluffy House/Cuddy story, and I'm not sure it's even gonna _be_ a House/Cuddy story. Hell, I'm not sure if there's even going to be pairings. But there most definitely _won't be House/Cameron_. I have too much respect for both characters to do that.


End file.
